


Iridescent Green, Speculum Blue, and Dazzling White!

by CookieCatSU



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Coming Out, Darkwing Duck: Part Time Bio Teacher, Detective Gos is on the case!, Drake is literally a Mallard duck, Fluff and Angst, Gosalyn is best daughter, I'm using duck patterns from nature, M/M, Trans Drake Mallard, also fun to describe, and therefore has brown feathers, but MVP goes to Launchpad as always, easier for the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27653404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CookieCatSU/pseuds/CookieCatSU
Summary: Gosalyn is a smart, and very observant young lady. Drake loves that about his daughter.At least until she starts asking some questions he's... not 100% sure how to answer.
Relationships: Drake Mallard & Gosalyn Mallard & Launchpad McQuack, Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack
Comments: 17
Kudos: 169
Collections: Trans Fiction ⚧





	Iridescent Green, Speculum Blue, and Dazzling White!

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [trans_positivity_fiction](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/trans_positivity_fiction) collection. 



It's just a wandering bit of curiosity on Gosalyn's part, that first gets the ball rolling.

They're sitting on the couch, and she looks over at Drake, half curled beside her, leaning heavily on the arm of the chair, and suddenly something clicks that just hadn't occurred to her before.

"You're a Mallard?"

"Yes…"

"Then, why aren't you green?"

"Oh well," They were jumping right into it, weren't they?.... "that's complicated…."

Her head cocks to the side, the edge of her beak pinched upward in confusion, left eyebrow crinkled in question. Emerald green eyes regard mottled brown feathers, speckled with tan and white near the edges, faintly singed from their latest escapade, and most certainly _not_ green, and it's clear she's wondering.

Probably wondering what's so complex.

"Okay…" She blinks dubiously. Her tone is somewhat discomfited, and Drake knows his palpable panic is surely the cause. "Should I even ask… Or are you going to explain…?"

Drake grins, very, very awkwardly, and then he glances down at a watch he doesn't own and isn't wearing, and says very, unnecessarily loudly, "Well would you look at the time? I ought to be cooking dinner. I gotta get to the kitchen!"

And, fueled by the hopes that this is a good enough excuse, he jumps from the couch, turns toward the interior of the rest of the apartment and quite literally runs from his daughter.

Gosalyn watches after him, dumbfounded and with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

* * *

Drake is great at blowing things out of proportion. He's an actor. Or used to be an actor. Or still is an actor? His work schedule is really weird right now, and parts seem to tend to come suddenly and unexpectedly, so he isn't really sure where he stands in that regard; but all of that is besides the point. 

Drake has the heart of an actor, and as such is prone to melodrama.

That's why he goes to Launchpad.

If his concerns had a basis, and were really as dire as Drake was certain they were, a quick talk with Launchpad would confirm that. And if they weren't, Launchpad would mellow him out, and then maybe Drake could stop freaking out and hyperventilating. 

Not hyperventilating would be nice. Just mild anxiousness is always better. At least he wouldn't run the risk of falling out from lack of oxygen, like he does right now.

"This is bad, LP" Drake cries, hand shoved deep in the feathers atop his head, yanking and pulling in barely contained agitation as he paces across their living room. "What do I tell her?"

"Just tell her the truth, DW" Launchpad says, very simply, and Drake sees the immediate problem. Launchpad doesn't _see_ a problem.

How does he _not_ see the problem here? It's right there, as big as the Thunderquack and loud as a train, all lacquered black, and stark against eggshell white walls.

"But… how do I explain it? What do I say? I didn't even completely understand it for myself until _years_ after I was her age" He freezes on the spot, frozen in the middle of the carpet, "What- gosh, what if she starts to _see_ me differently?"

And now he can't breath, again. His wings wrap around his abdomen, squeezing faintly, anything to comfort him against the turmoil churning in his gut. His beak tucks against his chest, and he firmly shuts his eyes.

"What if this is like Ma all over again? And she won't stop looking at me like I'm _not_ me- like I'm someone else-"

Drake gasps, quietly, when he feels arms wrapping around him from behind, interlocking just beneath where his own lay atop his middle. Launchpad hums softly, throwing his head atop Drake's with an almost reckless abandon that was all Launchpad, and so incredibly endearing, Drake thinks, warmly.

"Gosalyn loves you," Launchpad slowly turns them around the living room in a short spin, dancing to the music inside his head, and Drake sighs quietly, feeling the taddest bit less overwhelmed. His shoulders relax, and he leans into the chest of the sturdy duck still positioned behind him. "I love you"

"You don't have anything to worry about, Drakey"

It's soothing to hear. Drake finds he can finally breathe properly again.

He takes in a deep, deep breath, and gives a quick, resolute nod.

Launchpad smiles. "We'll take this on together. Just like we do everything else"

  
  


* * *

Gosalyn is confused, so she does what she usually does when perplexed. She scouts for info. 

First she consults the internet, since it often had the hard answers to the difficult questions in life: like what gluten was, or how you could figure out how to fit 27 marshmallows in your mouth instead of just 23. Unfortunately, searching up 'Why is my legal guardian acting so shady?' Doesn't turn up many (relevant) results, and she can't figure out any better search criteria, since she doesn't actually know what has Drake acting so erratically in the first place (hence the need for the search).

So that's a bust.

She therefore turns to her second pool of knowledge. People.

She checks in with Dewey first. He knows Launchpad really well, and she hopes (but kinda doubts?), that that knowledge extends to Darkwing as well.

When he hears her concerns, leans forward on his elbows atop his bunk, and whispers, "Maybe he has a secret agenda… Or he's become a spy, or met a spy, or is a spy but doesn't know it?" She promptly realizes it does not.

She goes to Violet next. Lena's there too, so she's already distracted, and she'd clearly been reading something she hadn't wanted to put down. Then Webby crashed through the library, and halfway between "Molting generally happens in autumnal conditions" and, "Bet you can't speed read through Aladdin faster than me!" Gosalyn decides to cut her losses.

The Uncle… Donald, she thinks, comes after that. Dewey boasts that he's like, the wisest not dead guy ever, and Gosalyn is quickly running out of people. His eyes are kind, and patient, but Gosalyn finds that a fifth of all he says is incomprehensible to her. She catches bits and pieces, about differences and acceptance, but can't piece anything particularly cohesive together. She writes a quick note to herself on her hand to bring Dewey as a translator, next time, and takes her leave.

She decides Dr. Cabrera is a good next choice. He's smart. He's a scientist. He has to know _something._

He won't quite meet her gaze. He stares at the tiled lab floor, mostly, twiddling his thumbs, hemming and hawing considerably more than is the standard for him. Gosalyn glares at him in the cheap fluorescent light of the underwater lab.

"I know you know something" She says irritably.

He laughs awkwardly and says, "Uhh, I don't know… Explain what happened again?"

"I asked about his feathers, and he was super weird about it"

"Okay. And you mean, _weird,_ as in-?"

"What are you _on_ about in here, Cabrera?" The chicken, who'd just stomped his way into the main lab from the storage closet, of all places, pauses, as soon as he sees Gosalyn, seated on the floor. He blinks. Then he clicks his beak in barely concealed agitation.

"Child" He acknowledges, in that clipped way that always annoyed Gosalyn. She gives a janky fake salute in response, in the hopes of irritating him back. Gyro rolls his eyes, and turns back to Fenton, "So, what are you _two_ on about in here?"

"Gosalyn just had a question, and I was answering," Fenton says, as he moves to stand.

"No, he wasn't," Gosalyn adds. She's becoming more irritable by the second, because no one was being of any help today.

Gyro raises a brow. Gosalyn watches as Fenton moves toward his fellow scientist, and then rises on tiptoes to quietly whisper something in his ear. She strains to hear, but can only make out half intelligible syllables.

Gyro's eyes widened, after a moment. His hand alights at his bowtie, which he adjusts with an odd tilt of his head, and then he clears his throat loudly.

"Fenton has just informed me of the subject matter of your current discussion" He brushes a hand down over the cream colored feathers of his right arm, presumably to flatten them. Though they clearly didn't need flattening.

If Gosalyn didn't know better, she'd call it a nervous tick.

She squints up at them, "Okay? And are you going to tell me what that might be-?"

Gyro shakes his head. 

"This isn't mine to tell"

He turns back to Fenton with a nod, as if Gosalyn isn't even there, brisk and unusually steady. "I'll be in the storage closet if you need me, working on some adjustments for Lil' Bulb"

Fenton nods, "Okay, Dr. Gearloose"

The chicken walks off (runs off, really). Just like Drake did yesterday, actually. 

Fenton sits back down beside Gosalyn.

Gosalyn is, naturally, left very confused by this entire exchange.

"Wanna shoot some experimental Uranium fireworks?" Fenton asks, to break the awkward silence that's fallen over them, "They have self-containing glass containers, so they should be safe"

Gosalyn shrugs, "Why not"

They both stand.

Gosalyn starts the day confused- ends the day even more confused, sooty with firework discharge, and considering her next plan of action.

* * *

"Spill" She tells the android.

Robo-dork blinks at her, and tilts his head in silent question, the violet-gray resin of his feathers shiny from the light streaming through the windows and rafters of the auditorium.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean" He says.

She plops down on the bleachers with a huff.

"My dad is making no sense, and your dad knows something. So tell me what you know"

Boyd nods, "Is this part of the development of friendship? I tell you something possibly embarrassing, you inform me of something potentially embarrassing, and our bond is strengthened by the sharing of potentially damaging personal tidbits"

It's Gosalyn's turn to blink dubiously. "Sorta, I guess"

"I've got one: Dr. Gearloose claims to have many, different bowties, but he only likes to wear the one; when in reality he instead has dozens of identical copies of the same bowtie, which he switches out daily"

Boyd grins triumphantly at her, so proud of himself, at that harrowing admission. Gosalyn slides her hand down her face, as she realizes that this interrogation would be a lot harder and probably a lot less fruitful, then she'd first realized.

"That's not what I had in mind"

"Now it's your turn, friend. 'Spill' a harrowing secret of your own, so we may bond further!"

* * *

It takes 3 days for Drake to build up the courage to talk to Gosalyn, besides inane chatter, and congratulating his precious little girl about her awesome escapades on the hockey rink.

She's waiting for him. He calls her into the kitchen, gently sits her down, sure, but she's gazing up at him so intensely it's obvious she's been waiting impatiently for this moment for days. Probably 3 days, actually.

Drake swallows. He's totally swamped with nerves, so frayed it feels like he's been pushed head first through a paper shredder. He sits down at the head of the table, perpendicular to Gosalyn's chair, and softly taps his hand against his knee.

"You asked why my feathers, my uh, my head feathers, weren't green... And I told you it was complicated"

"I remember that, yeah" Gosalyn nods.

"Well, male mallards typically have green plumage…. It's iridescent, and shiny. My father definitely did"

"But you don't" Gosalyn concludes, for him.

He bites at the edge of his beak. "Uh, no"

"And the reason behind that is complicated"

He nods jerkily, "Complicated" He parrots in confirmation.

"What about it is complicated?"

Oh, Suffering Succotash! 

And here comes the hard part.

"Male mallards can't be brown. Only female mallards have patterns like mine" He swallows thickly, reaches his hand to brush it anxiously through his head feathers, and Gosalyn finds her gaze directed toward his face, and the dappled brown of his forehead, the chocolate brown lines running from the crown of his head to his cheeks, and the white rings around his eyes. All female mallard patterns...

"That uh, that obviously means that I used to be female… identified as female, sort of. A long time ago! But I've been uh, _myself,_ for more than a decade"

Gosalyn absorbs that new information. "That doesn't sound complicated at all"

"Really?"

"No"

His eyes get wide. Drake hadn't been expecting such easy acceptance. He'd expected confusion and questions and flat out denial: rejection, too, fire hot and tearing and all consuming- because Gosalyn's opinion means so much to him. He hadn't expected this. It's underwhelming, in the best way possible.

"That doesn't change anything?"

His eyes are brown, with the faintest hint of speculum blue. Big and shiny and totally caught off guard.

She wonders why he'd think it would.

"Now that you've told me this, are you still going to order pizza tonight?"

"Of course. Extra cheese, bell peppers and onions" His smile is shaky, but warm, "Our favorite"

She nods resolutely, "I think we'll be fine"

* * *

Drake startles, when he sees the hoodie Gosalyn is wearing. It's striped: light blue, pink, and dazzling white.

She catches the surprised look in his eye, and smiles.

"Gotta show my support. I know it doesn't have your face on it, but hopefully this still works"

He pulls her into a tight, tight hug.

"Are you crying?"

He laughs, loud and pealing and light. 

"It's misting out here"


End file.
